


Vodka and Philosophy

by rhysgore



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Alcohol, Copious quantities of it, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans fall quickly to drunkenness, but two bored Timelords are made of sterner stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vodka and Philosophy

“’Drinking contest’? What’s that?”

The Doctor bustled by Romana, carrying in his arms no less than five plastic cartons full of a clear liquid.

"It's a recreational activity done often on the planet Earth by those wishing to become intoxicated and prove their superiority to others at the same time," he said, dumping the cartons rather unceremoniously on a small wooden table, and rushing back into the nearby cupboard. "Two or more people sit at a table, drinking alcohol, usually from a specific type of small glass, these ones.” He emerged from his rummaging holding them in his arms. “The last one left conscious is the winner."

"I don't see the appeal, Doctor." Romana crossed her arms, looking on in amusement as the Doctor juggled two handfuls of small, delicate looking glass cups. "It sounds equal parts reckless and nauseating, and I get enough of that travelling with you already."

Miraculously, the Doctor had managed to get all the shot glasses onto the table with the cartons without breaking a single one. He then set them up in neat rows on either sides of the table, and sat down in a chair on the end closest to him, facing Romana.

"Come on, if you don't try it, how will you know? Besides, it's been so long since I've been able at least try to do this. Humans have a _remarkably_ low tolerance for alcohol, I've found." The Doctor still remembered the contest he'd had with Jamie in his second body. The boy had drank until he was blue in the face- quite literally- and passed out, while the Doctor had only heavily slurred speech to show for his efforts.

"Mm. If you say so." A swish of white, and Romana had seated herself across from the Doctor, who flashed her one of his trademark face-splitting grins. "But let me be clear about one thing; I do intend to win."

“Of course.” The Doctor laughed, opening one of the jugs and pouring the clear liquid within expertly into the rows of shot glasses.

"Gallifreyan vodka," He explained. "Well, technically there’s no such thing as vodka on Gallifrey, but the actual name is predictably overcomplicated, and it's close enough in taste, appearance, and alcoholic content to the drink humans called vodka that I insist on referring to it as such."

"Whatever you say, Doctor." Romana intoned, picking up one of the glasses and swirling around the liquid within. At first glance, it might appear to be water, but after a moment she noticed a very subtle syrupy appearance to it as it moved, not quite as fluid as water.

The Doctor picked up one of his own glasses, still grinning. "Bottoms up!" He said cheerfully, to which Romana gave a quizzical raise of one elegant eyebrow. “It’s an Earth expression. Nevermind that though, I’ll explain later, just drink.” To demonstrate, he tilted his head back and downed his own glass in one fluid motion, gulped the vodka, relishing the burn he felt as it went down his throat, and then slammed the glass back on the table, upside-down.

Romana looked between her drink and the Doctor’s manic grin for a moment longer, then took a sip. Finding the taste agreeable, she downed the rest of it similarly to the Doctor, shaking her head wildly when she had drank it all.

“Well, that was certainly… bracing,” she said, already looking longingly at her second drink.

The Doctor grinned toothily at her, and picked up another glass.

“Told you!”

***

Five shots later, both Timelords were flushed pink, and Romana was tracing the rim of her seventh total, grinning a grin usually reserved only for the Doctor. Some slightly more rational and slightly less inebriated portion of her mind was telling her to stop, compose herself, maybe even forfeit the game, but the drunker and more stubborn parts of her mind promptly told that part to fuck off.

“No, but _Romana_ …” The Doctor was saying. His speech was just a tad slurred, and the alcohol had lowered his normal baritone even further, to both of their disbelief. “What if… What if there _are_ no Timelords and we’re just… just…” He downed the shot of vodka in his hand, and continued as Romana drank her own. “What if we’re some sort of… _exhibit_ for them…”

“I have no _idea_ what you could be talking about, Doctor,” She hiccupped once, and then giggled, legitimately giggled. The still sober part of her was completely and utterly appalled, and decided it would be best to give up right then and there, to spare itself the embarrassment that was sure to follow.

“The TARDIS isn’t _real_ , and we’re just- just… being put on different sets or something. Made to act out adventures for some strange Timelord audience’s amusement.” The Doctor gestured around the room a little, and then at her, his hands trying to say what he couldn’t at the moment articulate.

“That is absolutely _ridiculous_. Who’d want to watch _our_ lives?”

***

By her twelfth shot, any semblance of sobriety from any portion of her brain had completely fled Romana. She had sprawled herself awkwardly over her chair and was currently telling a story about her youth on Gallifrey. It was less of a story, and more of a collection of sentence fragments, innuendo, and non-sequiturs , continually prevented from making any type of sense by bouts of giggling and hiccupping, but the Doctor was hanging on to her every word.

“So after that, me and my- and my friend, we *HIC* went out to the place he had told us about and sure enough,” The heavy slur of her words was also present in the laughter which burst forth from her seemingly at random. “Sure enough! Somehow he… messed with the chameleon circuit and, well. Needless to say, our teacher was *HIC* not very fond with that particular representation of his.. of his *HIC* anatomy.” She laughed again, and the Doctor laughed with her, both almost hysterical.

Near simultaneously, they both picked up another glass, clinked them together messily, (Sloshing vodka on both of their clothing, which was already nearly soaked through with the stuff in some places. It was a good thing it was colorless, or Romana’s beautiful white dress would have been ruined forever.) and downed them in one gulp.

***

“You’ve got a _really_ nice ass, I hope you know that.”

“Thanks Romana, I really *HIC* … appreciate that.”

“Nnnno I mean it, it’s probably one of the best I’ve ever seen….”

They had both drank at least 20 shots in total. They might have lost count somewhere along the lines, but at the moment the established contest didn’t really concern either of them. 

At this point, their biggest concern was stripping themselves and each other of all articles of clothing and following the “getting drunk and then naked” train of thought to it’s satisfyingly logical conclusion.

***

The next morning, the Doctor awoke to a pounding headache. On the plus side, he was wearing his favorite hat. On the downside, that was _all_ he was wearing, and it was only just covering his crotch.

Blearily he sat up, and looked to his left. The room was a mess- the table had been kicked to the side, the floor was slightly sticky from whatever had been spilled on it (The Doctor was sure that in some places “what had been spilled” was definitely _not_ alcohol.), and it was a good thing he had chosen to use the nice unbreakable shot glasses, otherwise there would have been glass shards all over the floor. As it was, there were glasses all over the floor, but they didn’t pose a particular threat to his safety at the moment.

The Doctor looked to his right, and saw Romana sleeping on the floor. She was similarly naked, with only his scarf to afford her any covering. He suddenly found his own state of undress much, much more easily explainable.

Suddenly, the sleeping woman shifted, rolling over onto her side, and the modesty scarf fell away leaving her totally exposed, facing the Doctor. Romana blinked once, and opened her eyes, staring up at the Doctor as if she didn’t totally register what she was seeing. The Doctor turned away quickly, but not quickly enough to prevent other parts of his anatomy from reacting embarrassingly. Somewhat surreally, he noted that it was as if the hat on his lap was doffing itself in appreciation of the view it had been offered.

“Twenty-five to twenty-four,” Romana said. Even though the Doctor was trying his best not to look at her, the smirk on her face was evident from the tone of her voice.

“I’m sorry?” His mouth was like an amalgam of sand and glue, coupled with a rusty jaw.

“I drank twenty-five. You drank twenty-four. I won, Doctor.”

The Doctor groaned in pain, turning over onto his side, away from Romana, closing his eyes as the glaring white of the TARDIS was making his hangover worse. How had she even kept track of that??

After a moment, he heard Romana get up, presumably to clean up and get dressed. He heard her footsteps heading away from him, but he didn’t get up quite yet. The Doctor was frankly amazed by the fact that Romana could do more shots than him, and still not have as bad a hangover.

Romana’s footsteps paused as they neared what the Doctor assumed was the door.

“Nice ass,” she called back to him, and then the only sounds in the TARDIS were the Doctor grumbling and her laughter echoing down the long white hallways.


End file.
